- Chapter five -
Berliner
"The law of sacrifice is uniform throughout the world. To be effective it demands the sacrifice of the bravest and most spotless." – Passage taken from Mahatma Gandhi's book: Non-violent Resistance (Satyagraha), 1951.
"Before I say anything, you have to promise not to be mad."
Gaby crossed her arms, resting her back against the cold stone of the alley. A bag of trash lay forgotten at her feet, and a lonely pigeon nipped at a piece of stale bread. The narrow passage was far from ideal for a rendezvous, with the possibility of Jeffrey walking in on them through the back door, but Solo's message had been urgent. Or rather, his facial expressions had been, as he had signaled wildly at her for a good ten minutes from the other side of the street.
"You do realize that is not a good strategy to break bad news to a woman," Gaby whispered, shooing the curious pigeon away with her shoe. "Out with it, Solo. I told Nina that I'd be back in ten."
"Fine. The library fired me."
"The library—They fired you!? Are you serious?" Gaby exclaimed incredulously, poking Napoleon's chest with one finger. His features remained mostly impassive at her response; only the crease between his eyebrows showed his dismay as she continued to stab her fingernail into the angle of his sternum. "You had onejob Napoleon, one. Watch Doctor Summers while you work at the library."
"Technically speaking, those are two jobs."
Gaby took a big gulp of air, ready for a new rant, but Napoleon silenced her by pressing a finger against her lips. Consequently, another bout of anger burned at the back of Gaby's throat, but the efflux of her words was stopped by the pad of Solo's thumb. "Gaby, please, I'm not done yet." He gave her an apologetic look, his eyes sliding to the back door and back to Gaby.
"What do you mean 'I'm not done yet'," Gaby hissed at him. "There's more?"
"You promised you wouldn't be mad." Napoleon pouted, supporting his weight against the wall with his left hand.
"I promised no such thing. And stop pouting, you're a grown man, Napoleon."
Napoleon grinned at her, and it made Gaby wonder briefly why on earth she put up with these men on a daily basis. Because you care for them, Gaby's mind sing-songed, more than you'd like to admit.
Solo eyed the back door again, avoiding her gaze when he spoke. "It's about Hummingbird. She's waiting for me around the corner." He locked eyes with her again, effortlessly predicting the flare in her temper. "Don't—Gaby, I haven't finished my sentence yet."
Solo lazily rubbed the bridge of his nose with his right hand, but Gaby could see the tension setting in his jaw. It was enough to silence her for a moment.
"It's blackbird," He whispered, his voice a low murmur, "I have reason to believe he's been kidnapped."
Gaby's first thought was doubt. Blackbird kidnapped; it simply wasn't possible. Illya had been watching him closely. He'd been at school with him. They had set up a perimeter as a precaution, for the short exposure during lunch break. Kidnapping Blackbird wasn't one of the possibilities they continued to consider.
Unless someone got rid of Illya, Gaby thought, suddenly feeling paralyzed. Illya wouldn't have allowed anyone to get to Blackbird. What if he'd been outnumbered? Gaby tried hard to remember Illya's personal schedule, but the tightness in her chest made her head swim.
"Peril's fine, Gaby, he was on a stake-out at Hummingbird's place," Napoleon started, grabbing her shoulders with both hands and giving her a gentle shake, like he was trying to physically snap her back to reality. Am I really that easy to read? Gaby worried fleetingly. "We need to focus on Blackbird. If the cartel has him, it's only a matter of time before they—"
That's when the back door swung open, and the silhouette of her surrogate boss stepped into the alley. The man had already proved to possess a habit of horrible timing. "Liesel, break's over. Nina needs help with an order."
Napoleon was always the quicker one to react. In one smooth motion, he leaned in to press his lips gently to hers.
His left hand snaked around her waist shyly, settling against the base of her spine as he pulled her towards him, and his right thumb traveled easily to the curve of her cheekbone. It took Gaby a second to catch up before her mouth returned the pressure, her fingers catching in the fabric of his white coat. Solo was obviously waiting for Jeffrey to intervene as he softly worried Gaby's lower lip with his own, and when Jeffrey finally cleared his throat, he pulled back an inch to touch his forehead to Gaby's.
"Eagle's place after your shift. Phoenix will be present," Napoleon breathed the words so quietly that she almost missed them.
Then he was gone, his shadow the last to disappear around the corner of the alley. Slowly, Gaby made her way to the door her boss had been keeping ajar with his foot. Amusement painted his face when she fulfilled her short walk of shame.
"Really? A doctor? Already?" Jeffrey jabbed playfully.
Gaby hummed slowly, ignoring the chuckle that followed her response. Whatever reason she had for putting up with them and their impossible antics, Waverly would do well to get back to that raise she'd asked about in January. Days like these were most definitely not in the job description.
When Nathan had barged into the trauma room, impersonating a junior doctor, Mary's first instinct had been to confront him, then warn the authorities.
She'd been afraid, but that emotion had been roughly shoved aside by anger. Anger at the way this man had violated her trust after she had let him into her home. Anger at herself for taking those risks, despite everything that had happened the last couple of weeks. Her primary concern would always be Alexander, she was all he had left and vice versa, and to think that she had almost jeopardized his safety for a pair of sharp eyes. It made her sick to her stomach.
Then Susan had called, the principle of Newman Elementary School, and for the second time that day she had felt like throwing up the acidic remains of her breakfast. Ironically, the blue-eyed perpetrator had become her solitary support in this twisted turn of events.
He had promised her he would do everything in his power to bring Alexander home. She had no reason to trust nor believe him, and yet she did.
Nathan had asked her to contact her supervisor and, as quickly as possible, come to the corner of the Bova Bakery. While her mouth was working hard to formulate an excuse for her impending absence, her frontal cortex failed to understand why they were meeting at the bakery when they should be going straight to Alexander's school.
Finally arriving at the corner of Garden Street, Nathan didn't greet her and instead took her arm as he guided her down the sidewalk. He had donned his white coat and glasses, and the lines around his eyes had tightened. The sun cast long shadows behind them, its strong light beaming in their faces despite its continuous descent. After walking for a good five minutes, Mary yanked her arm free from his grip.
"You're going the wrong way! Why are we not going to his school?!"
"He won't be there. We'll be wasting valuable time to confirm what we already know."
"So tell me what we're spending our time on. I need to know something, Nathan."
He sighed deeply, and stuck his hands deep in his pockets. She could tell his hesitation by the subtle hunch of his shoulders. She'd seen it before in the room opposite Trauma 2. Nathan was obviously holding back information, perhaps to protect himself, but Mary couldn't find it in herself to sympathize with him.
Whether he trusted her or not didn't interest Mary; she was simply done with being kept in the dark.
"You need to give me something, Nathan," Mary repeated quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. They stayed like that for a few breaths, eyes locked and eyebrows knitted together. After another minute of silence, he finally caved.
"I have a colleague who can help us, but I have reason to believe he's been injured. You help him, I help you find your son. Deal?"
His hand hovered in the empty air.
Mary blinked. His response threw her off guard, and she carefully pondered the righteousness of her maternal instincts by comparing it to reason. Was it wrong to compromise the neutral position she held as a doctor? Treating person X to save person Y, based on self-interest, surely made her anything but an impartial clinician? She prided herself on her ability to remain unbiased, but that was before Alexander's life had been on the line. Was there even a right decision here?
Mary's brain struggled to distinguish selfishness from sacrifice, and a flood of doubt filled the space in between.
Was she capable of sacrifice? One of the things her job had taught her, was that the law of sacrifice was uniform throughout the world. It demanded the suffering of the brave, whether they held the cold hands of their loved ones or shared organs after death through altruistic belief. Whenever death threatened to divide her patients, it was also that same kind of suffering that brought them closer together. Besides love, no other force was strong enough to accomplish what sacrifice could.
Slowly, Mary extended her hand to grip his.
She knew now that she was prepared to lose everything if it meant protecting Alexander. She just prayed she would be brave enough.
When Gaby was back at Illya's front door that same afternoon, she wasn't sure what to expect.
Throughout the rest of her shift, she had tried hard to work out why they were placing Mary in a room with Waverly. Why they were all blowing their covers, despite the fact that only Solo had interacted with Hummingbird. Gaby shook her head slowly, trying to make sense of this mess. The kidnapping of Alexander couldn't be everything there was to the story. Waverly always got touchy about abandoning a cover; the only exception he had ever agreed on was impending death.
Back in Italy, she had maintained her own cover which (partly) had led to the success of the mission. Napoleon, on the other hand, had abandoned his in his own glamorous manner, and Gaby had figured he didn't care much for Waverly's opinion on the matter. Or perhaps he was trying to get himself an early retirement, and now she really ought to tell him that this was not the way one wins the favor of Waverly.
The door opened, startling Gaby. The beaming face of Napoleon greeted her. Combined with his bright blue eyes, his face was the picture of innocence. "Liesel! So glad you could make it to the party. Do come in!"
Nope, a voice in Gaby's head finished her train of thought, pretty sure he doesn't give a shit about becoming employee of the month.
Napoleon took her coat, and quickly led her to the small living room. Her eyes only caught the picture frame wrapped around the happy smile of a dog. The sight that greeted her next was a far more horrendous one, and Gaby's stomach plummeted.
Illya was seated on the couch, his shirt crumpled up in one hand while the other held a silver flask, no doubt filled with alcohol. Dried blood was clinging to the left side of his face, just below a bright white patch on his temple, the scarlet framing his jaw and painting his collarbone and left shoulder. Underneath his epidermis a dark blue tinge had attempted to mingle with his pale skin. While his expression was neutral, Gaby wasn't fooled. Flexing his fingers was his tell-tale sign.
On Illya's side, Doctor Summers' hands were pulling Illya's broken skin back together. The coffee table had been emptied of their files, and was now covered in medical supplies ranging from alcohol swipes to gauze. Gaby could barely pull her eyes away from the occasional plunge the needle and thread took into Illya's skin. Swallowing hard, she turned to fix Napoleon with her angriest glare.
"You said he was fine," she fumed at him, struggling to keep her emotions in check. This isn't Istanbul, Gaby. You're overreacting, she told herself, repeating the words like a mantra. It did little to calm her down.
"He is! A little banged up, but fine! Right, Anton?"
Illya's head dipped in a short nod as he watched Gaby intently. Her heart was still thumping against her ribs, and he watched her as if he could hear its rhythm. "Burglar in Doctor's house got away, but not without a scratch."
"Doctor, you've met Liesel," Napoleon interjected casually.
"Should have known that such a pretty face in an ordinary bakery meant trouble," Mary grumbled, her long fingers working smoothly on the last stitch in Illya's shoulder. With practiced ease, she sealed the wound with sterile gauze and tape before admiring her handiwork.
"There," she said, removing her gloves, "All done. Get them removed in 5 to 7 days. Sooner if it becomes infected. No heavy physical exercise, no fighting with burglars, no getting knocked in the head. Oh, who am I kidding?"
Illya's eyes drifted from Gaby to Mary. "Thank you," he said courteously, and Gaby observed how easily he slipped back into his cover profile. To Mary, he was still Anton Volkov, and the protection that came with this name eased some of the pressure in Gaby's lungs.
They were not compromised. Not yet.
The sharp ring of the doorbell echoed in the living room. Napoleon was already at the door, and the familiar fall and rise of Waverly's footsteps greeted Gaby's ears. She glanced at Illya, only he was staring attentively at Mary. Confusion nibbled at Gaby's consciousness, but one look at her boss' face told her enough.
Mary and Waverly were not strangers.
As if on cue, Mary rose sharply from the couch, and took three big strides towards Waverly. Her face was stark white, her light blue eyes large, and the expression painted her face in a way that made her look ten years older. Her hands seemed glued to her side, and nobody dared to break the silence.
Well, except her boss, of course. He was never the tactful one.
"Mary. It's good to see you," Waverly began carefully, his lips pulling sideways in his charming trademark smile.
Mary's hand shot forward so rapidly, it seemed that her movement had travelled faster than the sound it produced. Alexander's head snapped to the side, a red glow quickly spreading across his cheek, and the unexpectedness of Mary's action had everyone rooted to the spot, including Waverly. Then, almost as quickly, the doctor surged forwards, catching the long limbs that belonged to her boss in a tight embrace while the words 'you bastard' were lost against his vest. After several beats, Alexander returned the embrace just as tightly.
Never before had Gaby felt as confused as she did then. Luckily, there was always Napoleon Solo.
"Oh, yeah, Liesel, I totally forgot to mention earlier. Mary's his niece."
Gaby groaned inwardly. "Seriously?! You had time for a kiss but not time for that?"
"Hey, I prioritized."
"What kiss?" Illya interfered sharply, his head snapping back and forth between his colleagues.
"He also got Doctor Moss suspended," Mary mumbled into the fabric of Waverly's suit.
"Doctor Moss?" Illya parroted.
"And to think being fired by the library wasn't enough for one day," Gaby sighed deeply, her fingertips massaging the ache building up in her right temple.
"You got fired?!" the Russian exclaimed loudly.
"Everyone, shut it," Waverly parenthesized, gently disentangling himself from Mary's grip. He squeezed her shoulder before filling his pockets with his hands, but his eyes remained glued to the woman in front of him. "There's much to discuss, and very little time to do so."
The room lapsed into silence again, and Gaby watched her boss with growing interest. She had never seen him interact with anyone the way he was doing now. With Mary. Who was his niece.
Holy shit.
"The cartel has already reached out to Mary," Solo spoke, his face grim. "They want her to publicly admit she has been trading diamorphine for cash, and they want her to do this at the annual Albert Lasker award ceremony on October 9th. Which is Wednesday. Which is tomorrow."
"Which, I will, for the record," Mary stated, raising her chin.
"I expected as much," Waverly replied, but Gaby's ears couldn't detect defeat. Instead, they detected mischief, a frequency she had developed a sensitivity for over the past few years.
Her mouth spoke on its own. "You have a plan."
Waverly grinned, like a little boy caught in the act. Gaby was a hundred percent sure she was not going to like what came next.
"When was the last time you performed The Nutcracker?"
A/N: I'm back folks! And surprise: I've got two chapters for you lovely readers. (I'm starting to sense a pattern here. The guilt of not uploading has forever changed me!) So hit that cute little "next chapter" button, but not before dropping a note to tell me what you guys think! …Pretty please?